


From a Dream

by brittishmenorbust



Category: Marvel (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Art, Cute, Destiny, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mystery, romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:03:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1950897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittishmenorbust/pseuds/brittishmenorbust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've dreamt of a mysterious man for months now, what happens when he shows up in real life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

You wake up in a cold sweat once again. The room is still dark - it must still be night - and you throw your covers off as you get off the bed. The image is so clear in your mind right now you have to preserve it. You grab a canvas and some paint. You don't think, you just let the brush do its work. Your hair constantly falls in your face, damp from your night sweats, and you push it out of your way impatiently. Your hands are frantic, swiping the brush this way and that, using greens and blacks mostly. Finally you finish and step back. It's almost like you don't even remember painting this. But you remember _him_. For months you've been dreaming of a man. You don't know who he is, or where he's from. Every night now, he comes to you and it's always the same. His angular features catch the light of the moon in a way you've never seen. He stands facing you, just staring. You say nothing. He remains silent as well. You just stare at each other. Sometimes he tilts his head to the side and his long black hair falls softly to follow. His eyes are intense as he stares at you, sometimes you have to look away. It seems like an eternity in each dream, but you always wake up before morning drenched in sweat and shaking.

You step back from this canvas and look at it. There's something different about this one that you can't quite put your finger on. Maybe... A new softness? You glance around at the tens of other pictures you've drawn in your post dream state. They all depict the man standing alone with his shoulders pulled tightly back, hands clasped together tightly in front of him. His chin is lifted and he looks down at you with authority. You return your gaze to this picture. You've drawn him standing alone, yes, but his posture is different. Relaxed? His hands rest at his sides and his eyes have a softness to them.

You wouldn't call them nightmares, but they scare you. They aren't like regular dreams, or what you can remember of regular dreams. You're always cold, and there seems to be no air in your lungs. You look again at the painting and sigh. So what if this one's a bit different, you're sure the dreams won't stop. You wouldn't mind if something different were to happen. But for now just staring at this man is wearing thin. You crave to know more about him. He's so intelligent-looking and regal. You wonder about him constantly.

You add your latest canvas to the pile by your bed and take a shower. Once you've showered you feel better, and you make your breakfast quickly before heading out to work. After a long day at the office you come home. You tool around for a bit before eating dinner and getting ready for bed. You linger in the bathroom, brushing your teeth for longer than necessary. You have a strange feeling you can't quite shake. You dread going to bed. You're torn between the ominous feeling in your gut and your longing to see the man again. You decide that you can't fight it anymore. You'll have to sleep eventually. You decide to go to bed naked since you've been sweating through your clothes anyway. You set your alarm and lay down.

You can't fight sleep for long, and soon you're back in that deserted place, staring at him. You try to gasp as you see him take a step towards you, but there's no air. You can't move your body as he steps closer and closer to you. You're scared at first, this has never happened in the dream before. But when you look into his eyes you see that softness again. Your body relaxes a little as he closes the distance between you. He is significantly taller than you. You come up to about his chin. He stands inches away from you and you have to choice but to look up at him. Up close you see his perfect rose-colored lips and flawless white skin.

You feel a cold hand brush your cheek and his eyes close. You wake with a start, returning to your bedroom, doused in sweat and shaking again. You run your fingers through your hair and sit up, processing what just happened. That felt so real. You could actually feel a hand on your cheek. As your breathing slows you become aware of something. You look up and see a figure standing at the other side of the room, the back facing to you. You don't have to think for more than a second. You'd know that form anywhere. It is him. He was in your room.

You remind yourself to breathe. You see his face turn to the side, the moonlight from the window outlining his nose and lips. He noticed you were awake. Your heart slams in your chest and you think you might pass out. How was the man from your dreams in your room? Although you should be, you aren't scared. You feel that same gnawing curiosity that plagues your dreams. You long to go to him, to ask him who he is, but you resist.

The man takes a breath and turns to face you. Even through the darkness, you can see those eyes staring into you. He makes his way across the room slowly, taking each step as if the floor were made of glass. Once he is two feet away from the end of your bed he stops. This is the part of the routine you know well - staring. He stands there, staring as you two had always done for what seems like hours. Although his eyes never leave yours, you are suddenly aware of your nudity. Under any other circumstances you would have blushed and covered up, but you don't care. In a way, this stranger isn't a stranger at all. You feel you know him, in a sense. You make no effort to cover up, and instead try to match his intense gaze with your own.

As though it were made of velvet, his voice carries easily and you feel it in your core. It takes you a moment to realize that he had actually spoken to you. That had never happened before and you are shocked. After a second, he tilts his head to the side and waits for a reaction. In the wake of the unexpected event you registered that he had simply said, "Hello."

You swallow hard. Your hands are shaking and you try to hide them from him.

"Hi," you barely whisper. You see the edge of his mouth curl up in a small smile. After a moment, you take a deep breath and try something else. "Who... who are you?" you ask shyly.

"I could ask you the same question," the man responds smoothly. His eyes have a glint to them now. They seem almost... playful?

" _You're_ in _my_ room," you respond.

"That's true," is all he offers in return. He acts like he has all the time in the world. He steps closer and his eyes dance down your body. Still, you are not resigned to modesty and take the opportunity to look at his form. You'd painted it a thousand times. You know all his curves. His tight leather outfit kept few secrets and you would be lying if you said he wasn't attractive.

"Who are you?" you repeat, this time with more confidence. He raises an eyebrow at you, in response to your newfound bravery.

"You don't know?" he asks.

"No, should I?"

"I suppose not."

You sit in silence for a minute, thinking. You'd waited all these months to meet this mystery man and now here he is. You decide to let him make the next move. You didn't have to wait long.

"You dream about me," he states. It isn't a question, he knows.

"Yes."

His eyes flicker over to your paintings.

"Did you paint these?" he asks, leaving the end of your bed to view your canvases. You suddenly feel a rush of emotions. You don't want him to see your work, but you also can't stand to be away from him. The distance between you seems to hurt more than anything. You jump out of bed, dragging your sheet with you. Once you wrap yourself up, you stand next to him, nervously watching his face. You want him to like the paintings, although you couldn't have said why.

You watch as he gazes at each piece, apparently lost in thought. Once he has gone through all of them twice he turns to you.

"Loki," he says, bowing his head. Is that a compliment? He can see your confusion and adds, "That's my name. I am Loki of Asgard."

These words mean nothing to you.

"And where exactly is that?" you ask, not sure if it is a stupid question.

"Another world," he says calmly, like he had said it was down the street. You aren't sure why, but you believe him. It just makes sense to you. While you are processing this, you notice his expectant expression. You quickly blurt out your name and blush. He reaches for your hand and kisses it lightly. His cool lips send shivers rippling through you and you feel your heart yearn for his touch when he releases you.

You are confused over the hold this man has on you. You don't even know him... and yet you do.

He leans over and picks up your latest work. His own eyes possess the same softness as the picture. You wonder what had happened to change those eyes.

"You're very good," he says.

"Thank you," you respond coyly. You nervously scrunch your sheet with your hands and bite your lip. Since he has come here you've felt like you were falling. The feeling in the pit of your stomach hasn't stopped and you haven't taken a normal breath. Meanwhile, he seems as calm as a still lake. He puts the picture down gently. You have no idea what to do next. You wait for him again to make a move.

"Why do you paint me?" he asks simply.

"What?" his question catches you off guard. Surely he must know why. "I'm... I'm not sure," you say.

He looks confused. You do your best to elaborate.

"I dream about you. Every night. And then I wake up and paint."

"Oh," he says, more to himself than to you.

"Why are you here?" you ask. You've been dying to ask and couldn't contain it anymore.

He tilts his head in the way that you've sort of grown fond of, and spoke clearly.

"Because I dream of you."


	2. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Loki talk about how to figure this situation out.

His response takes you by surprise. This man, from another world, dreams of little old you? You who works part time at a bookstore and knit scarves in her spare time? You who wouldn't be picked out of a crowd for anything other than being extremely average? How could this man dream about you? He notes the confusion on your face and seems disappointed. Maybe he thought you'd have the answers, just as you'd thought about him. He sighs and his shoulders drop. His eyes pan down over your sheet-covered body and back up to meet your eyes.

"Should we sit down maybe?" He asks. You nod and he leads you towards your bed, his hand resting on the small of your back. You sit on the edge of you bed and he sits next to you, watching your every move.

"I thought maybe you'd know," you explain. "Why I dream about you all the time."

He sits quietly for a minute before answering. When he does, his voice is softer than before, less guarded.

"What happens in your dream?"

You explain how you see him every night, staring at you. You explain how you can't breath and how you say nothing and wake up in sweats. He listens, his face unreadable. You finish explaining and wait. You expect him to tell you what he dreams about. Instead he remains silent.

"There is little I do not understand," he starts. "But this is one thing that baffles me. Why should I, Prince of Asgard, dream about a _human_?" he said human like it was swear word. You feel a little offended.

"Excuse me," you scoff, "And what exactly are you then?"

"I am a god," he says, as if that should have been obvious.

Again, you shouldn't believe him but you do. There's something intangible about him. It's a quiet power that he radiates. Still, he looks down on you, and that hurts. Apparently it shows in your face because his expression softens.

"I apologize," he says. It seems like it's difficult for him to say and you appreciate the effort. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just that... This has never happened to me before."

"Me either," you laugh at the absurdity.

You look at each other for a long moment. You still can't believe that the man from your dreams is here, on your bed, with you. You realize something. If Loki, a god, doesn't have the answers to why you dream about each other, then who does? There must be a reason. There must be some kind of connection. Without thinking, you reach for his hand. He jumps at the contact but settles. His hand moves to fit with yours. The contact sends waves of electricity through you. You can't help but smile.

"What is it?" he asks, confused by your grin.

"Nothing. It's just... Something about you," you say, "seems so familiar." You didn't realize it until you said it. In your dreams you had said nothing and yet felt everything. He is a stranger and yet you know him. For the first time you believe in reincarnation. It seems like the only explanation is that you've met in another life.

Loki looks at you with longing in his eyes.

"I feel the same," he admits, closing his other hand around yours.

"What do you dream about?" you can't resist any longer.

"My dream is not unlike yours," Loki says. "We stand alone, facing each other. I try to speak but I can't. I try to call out to you but I don't know your name. It's cold and we're so far apart. Last night something changed though. I was able to move. When I stepped towards you in the dream, I woke up here." His eyes roamed around your messy apartment. You cringe noticing your lingerie carelessly thrown on the floor, and your cardigans piling up next to your door. Your eyes follow up from the floor to the window to see that the sun is now peaking over the horizon. As the light starts to hit your room you turn to Loki. He's somehow even paler in the sunlight. The new rays illuminate the flawless skin and churning green eyes. You catch yourself staring before he does.

Suddenly an idea dawns on you.

"Are you in any books?" You ask on the off chance.

"I suppose so," he contemplates. "Humans have written about us for centuries. I imagine there are records of some sort." He seems uninterested on the surface but his side glance at you says otherwise. He doesn't know what you're thinking. It makes you smile to have thought of something he hasn't.

"It's just... There might be something somewhere about... this kind of thing. Between your people and mine, I mean. Maybe."

It's a shot in the dark but if this man is who he says he is - a god - then there would likely be something of worth in a book about him. You shake your head at the idea of yourself being involved in something of such grandiosity. It's unthinkable. But still, there's obviously something going on here and if he doesn't have the answers, some beautiful old book might.

Loki tilts his head and smiles. Suddenly a warmth comes to his eyes that melts your heart. He is surprised by you. Proud, even.

"Where might we find something of this sort?" he asks.

"I work at a used book store," you tell him. "There might be something there. We can go now, I have a key."

You look down at the leather-clad, regal looking Loki and bite your lip.

"We might need to change your outfit though."

He looks down incredulously, assessing his magnificent garments.

"This is made from the finest silks in Asgard-"

"Yeah, well, you'll stick out in a bad way here. I'll figure something out," you say as you head towards your closet. You rummage around and manage to find some large shirts and a pair of pants your brother left when he stayed with you. "These might work,"  you say, holding up the pants to Loki. His legs go on for miles but it look like your brother's pants might just fit. At least good enough to avoid unwanted attention. He looks at the clothes with distaste but begins to disrobe.

Your heart hammers in your chest and you can't tear your eyes away from him as he strips off his top. Underneath the fabric is a lean, toned chest, as pale as his face. Your eyes roll over his torso. He seems unaware of your stare and continues down to unbutton his pants. You blush and turn away. No, you think, he's seen me naked. You quickly turn around again and are quite glad you did. God or not, that is still human anatomy. And quite a fine anatomy at that. He notices your unwavering gaze and directs your attention upwards. He has an amused smile on his face.

"Will you hand me the clothes?" he asks innocently, extending his hand to you. You can barely feel your arms but you try to move them to give him some clothes. When he's dressed he looks adorable. The white shirt is just a little too small and some of his midriff is exposed. The pants are tight but reach down to his feet. He has kept his boots on, as they are reasonably inconspicuous.

"Alright then, let's go," you say, turning towards the door.

"Is it customary for human women to wear sheets in public?" he asks, sincerely.

"No," you laugh. "It's not." You quickly change, facing away from him and grab your keys. You're still blushing from what you've seen and what he's seen of you.

You lead him down the street in the cool morning air to the shop. The door creaks familiarly as you enter the empty store.

 

 

 

 


End file.
